


Drift

by Lynxkitten



Series: Woes of the Devilish Kind [2]
Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Being socially stunted is hard, Cats, Gen, Socially Awkward Homura, This child needs help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 08:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21353500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynxkitten/pseuds/Lynxkitten
Summary: She didn’t like being touched.
Series: Woes of the Devilish Kind [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537870
Kudos: 51





	Drift

**Author's Note:**

> Wheeeeeee  
Just passing through  
Enjoying the view  
And having my mind invaded by story ideas  
** WARNING ** towards the end of this snip there are some descriptions of graphic violence, you have been warned.

She always liked cats. 

Even before she had contracted, she could see the independent animals wandering outside her window in the hospital, sunning themselves whenever it was warm out and mingling with each other. Or fighting, which could surprisingly become very loud. 

She liked them. 

Liked how they would come up to her asking for affection whenever she could go out. Liked that their body language was so _clear_ whenever they disliked you or not. Liked that they were simplistic creatures with simplistic needs that were conveyed simply. 

Nothing like humans. Nothing like the way they could be lying behind your back to stab you from behind. Nothing like the way they could be smilingsmiling and _smiling_ until you realize that they’re laughing at you. 

Nothing like that. 

She liked them because the way they communicated was nothing like the complicated two-faced society of humans. 

So in exchange for their company she brought them gifts. Toys made from scrap paper or ripped clothing, food that she smuggled out whenever she could, brushes for that one spot that they couldn’t reach when grooming. 

Yes, it was much more simpler to be liked by them than humans. 

Their fur was always silky smooth after she gave a good grooming, smooth and warm under the dappled sunlight as she and all the cats around her dozed under the sun’s blinding gaze. Their weight was a reassuring one, nothing like the heavy hands that had rested upon her shoulders or the quick arm slipping through the crook of her elbow. Becoming friends with a cat came with no other obligation than the occasional offering of food and grooming (<strike>nothing like getting your hair pulled. Nothing like having your food wasted and drink dumped over your head as the stickiness soaked in your clothes, your hair and clogged your very _pores_ </strike>)

That was what she thought until Mitakihara came into her life. The bright colors of vibrant red, pastel pink, shining gold and oceanic blue overtaking the mottled whites, calico orange and grey-blue coats that used to frequent her days.

Her laughter came out over cake, her quiet voice was finally heard and _understood_ for once and her mind didn’t stutter and halt under the gazes of her peers anymore.

Until the monsters came.

Until the colors faded into monotonous grays and blues, becoming frozen into an unending loop. 

Until she found that her and everybody that she held dear was fated to become those monsters. 

And sometime during that endless loop (<strike> sotired_whenwillitend?Pleasestopstopstop_ </strike>) her thoughts had cycled back into old habits and her hand was frequented by glossy fur once again.

However, instead of the cacophony of colors in front of the hospital, the fur that passed under her hands were of a simple monochromatic theme, yin and yang, complementary pairs of the other. Dual tones of purring could be heard in her apartment as she worked the brush over tangles and snarls.

Black and white were the only colors that she could bear to see for a long while.

She had tried, once or twice, to return to that utopia that she had stumbled upon so very long ago. Tried to connect with her once-friends time and time again.

She wished that she had been deaf and stupid after that (<strike>”She totally looks suspicious!” “She’s not right in the head” _”I don’t trust you”_ </strike>)

She wished she hadn’t kept trying even after enduring it. 

She wished that she didn’t ache with an emptiness that ate away at her as she tried again and again to reconnect with them _right_. Half of her and the group’s relationship never clicking together as easily after the first couple of timelines passed and she grew apart from the perspectives of justice and couldn’t always go out of her way to fully explain herself, too busy with trying to keep the Incubator in line while also preparing for Walpurgisnacht. She wished that she could explain everything in a way that wouldn’t kill them so that they could all work _together_ again instead of being this fractured, hobbled and twisted parody of what they once were. She wished that she never had any human companionship with its complicated morals and twisted masks of personas. She wished that she could go back to the time when her world was encompassed with nothing but the company of cats and when she was okay with that.

She wished that she didn’t have these _habits_ that further estranged her from them, but she couldn’t find it in herself to cease doing it. Watching them from the corner of her eyes. Guarding her back. Never relaxing in their presence. Keeping her back to the wall. Always making sure that she had a way out. All of these things made her seem suspicious. Untrustworthy.

But the one that seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back <strike>always, always</strike> was her inability to accept physical touch.

It was a common fact that Puella Magi couldn’t feel pain. It was fact that their body was nothing more than a marionette being controlled by a lump of rock. So why is it that whenever a shoulder brushed up beside her, or an arm slung over her neck, she had to fight not to retaliate?

Why was it that despite being the puppeteer, she couldn’t control her body on this one thing?

<strike>Lies lies lies. _She knows. She knows why_ </strike>

<strike>She knows fully well why she can’t</strike>

Why couldn’t she _forget-?_

_Sword flashing towards her, no time to react, backbackback_ **squelch** _Her hand had thudded downdowndown and she_ **couldn’t reach her shield**-

**Schlick** _her neck had wetly sounded as the blade glided by her neck and blood flowed down ohgodnonononono_ **don’t let them cut the rest**-

**Crack** _went her spine as a magically enhanced boot to her back shattered the delicate bones nononono_ **have to get up** _hurryhurryhurry_-!

The thing she supposed that she hated the most (other than the Incubator) was the random events that could happen in the timelines.

Certainly, they could break up the monotony of failing and brought the prospect of a solution to her loops <strike>finally this can end </strike> but she had found out the hard way that they were nothing more than added problems.

And as <strike>Sayaka</strike> Miki (_You don’t deserve to speak her name_) stepped onto the bridge and black feathers rained down from the sky, as her blood flowed on the ground and tinted the world in fake colors, she couldn’t help but smile and think <strike>I can see the end.</strike>


End file.
